Paris is a Bitch

blow to establish dominance, not inflict damage. “You know who you fucked with tonight?” I said. “
GIGN.
”
    He blanched at that. The
Groupe d’Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale
was the French Gendarmerie’s elite counterterrorism unit. GIGN operators had a reputation for toughness, and were especially feared in the Parisian slums. If you were an illegal, and I was betting this guy was, a GIGN operator was just about the last person in the world you wanted taking a personal interest in you.
    “I didn’t… I didn’t…” he stammered between gasps. “But your face—”
    I smacked him again. “Idiot, you think I’m supposed to look like GIGN? What about the woman, did she look GIGN to you? You think we should wear signs, maybe, so punks like you can identify us?”
    An
oh, fuck
expression stole across his face, and I knew he believed completely. And why not? How else could he understand how a defenseless woman and her innocuous date had mowed down his entire crew?
    He panted and shook his head. “I didn’t know.”
    “You’re part of a cell? This was a terrorist hit, yes? You know what we do with terrorists who attack GIGN?”
    His eyes were bulging in exhaustion and panic, but I knew a part of his brain was still reasoning, thinking,
we’re talking, if we’re talking, I can talk my way out.
I wanted to encourage that sensibility.
    “No!” he said. “Not a terrorist. I swear, I didn’t know.”
    “Who are you working for?” I said. “Al Qaeda? Yes, this is a big night for me, to break up an al Qaeda cell. Come on, we’re going to Satory, GIGN headquarters. I have two partners, we all lost friends in Afghanistan. They’ll want to interrogate you themselves.”
    “I don’t know any al Qaeda!” he said. His breathing was becoming a little less labored. “Please, this was a mistake. I’m not a terrorist.”
    “No? You’re not a terrorist? Then you’re what? What was tonight?”
    “A mistake. I’m sorry.”
    “You were trying to kidnap my partner. Why?”
    “I was hired.”
    “By whom?”
    “One in my crew knows a Saudi. But not al Qaeda! One of the royals, he said. The Saudi hired us to kidnap the woman. That’s all I know.”
    It probably was all he knew. I doubted anyone who hired a bunch of street toughs would have shared more than that. But it couldn’t hurt to try for a little more. So I smacked him again. At this point, the smacks would be almost comforting, maintaining my dominance, which he now accepted, and implying that if he played his cards right, this was the worst he might receive. “That’s all you know? A Saudi? Listen, you want to avoid disappearing in Satory, you better stop insulting me with this bullshit.”
    “It’s not bullshit. My boss told us the Saudi wanted the woman to be hurt. He gave us five thousand Euros, with five thousand more on completion.”
    “You believe that? Your boss took probably twice that. He played you for a chump. And what were you supposed to do?”
    “Just… look, I’m giving you cooperation, all right? I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t know she was GIGN. That she was your partner.”
    “What were you supposed to do?”
    “We were supposed to rape her. All of us, every way possible. And then slash her. Slash her face. Make her ugly. I’m sorry.”
    I maintained my expression of stern professional skepticism. But inside, something was uncoiling, something I would need to keep in check if I was going to keep my promise to Delilah. I was distantly aware of the hypocrisy of my reaction to what he had been hired for. After all, I’ve killed people for money. It’s what I used to do. I never had a problem with it, or much of a problem, anyway.
    But still.
    “Who was the Saudi?” I said. “What is his name?”
    “I don’t know. Vincent didn’t tell us that.”
    “Vincent?”
    “My boss. The one you pulled from the back of the truck.”
    Whether he was bullshitting me or was legitimately ignorant, I wasn’t going to learn anything more from him. It was time to go.
    “You have contraband?” I asked him.
    “Contraband?”
    “Drugs. Weapons. You’re carrying?”
    “No, man, I’m clean.”
    I gestured with my head to the stone wall along the entrance to the bridge. “Put your hands on the wall. I’m going to pat you down. If you’re telling me the truth, you can walk. If you’re lying, I take you to Satory.”
    He gave me a sly look, probably thinking what I really wanted was to take his